


Over and Over

by TangoWhiskeyman



Category: Neon Genesis Evangelion
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Cuddling & Snuggling, Domestic Fluff, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, F/M, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Married Couple, Mild Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-19
Updated: 2020-07-19
Packaged: 2021-03-05 06:47:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 897
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25390012
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TangoWhiskeyman/pseuds/TangoWhiskeyman
Summary: Melancholic ruminations on a sleepless night. Soothing touches and a warm embrace.
Relationships: Ayanami Rei/Ikari Shinji
Comments: 2
Kudos: 28





	Over and Over

It was quiet nights Shinji found most difficult. This always struck him as odd—quiet, not the awkward silence of a bungled conversation, nor the strained silence of a life-or-death situation, but the rare, tranquil silence of a moment free of any responsibility or obligation, was something he usually welcomed.

This night was indeed a quiet one. There were no roaring thunderclaps, fierce winds, or extraterrestrial assaults, just the hum of a ceiling fan, the light pitter-patter of rain outside, and the occasional _fwap_ of tree branches thudding against the building.

It wasn't the quiet alone that troubled Shinji. There was something about the darkness that accompanied it during the night that made him especially contemplative—the feelings of loneliness it so easily manifested, of uncertainty and fear. That oppressive darkness that ceaselessly, day after day, whisked away everyone and everything around him, even if only for a matter of hours at a time. That all-encompassing darkness in which lingered the ghosts of those long gone, yet not forgotten.

He closed his eyes and sighed.

This contemplation was rarely an enjoyable experience for him. No matter where his train of thought would first start, its path always had a way of winding off in the same direction—the past. What happened in the past should stay in the past, Shinji felt. He had grown now, grown into a respectable man. A man not without his fears and insecurities, but still of substance, character, and even strength. However hard he reasoned with himself, his memories—his traumas, his regrets—continued to haunt him, most of all during these deceptively calm nights.

He looked to the window, watching silently as rain beat against it, a distant streetlamp illumining each drop. The rainfall wasn't heavy, its sound barely audible over the fan. With each drop, some thought or memory of someone he had let down, of some horrific experience, of some grievous sin, resurfaced.

He continued to watch out that window. Still more rain fell.

"Like the descent of their last end," Shinji said, "upon all the living and the dead."

The woman next to him stirred. Shinji started slightly, then sighed. He hadn't meant to wake Rei—no, that was a lie. Deep down, he hoped she would hear his words. As selfish as that may sound, in that moment, he needed her. There are always times when a husband needs his wife, and when a wife needs her husband. Moments when a little give-and-take is necessary, when one needs to be a little selfish, and the other—sometimes not without a bit of grumbling—needs to be a little selfless.

Rei stifled a yawn. "You've been reading Joyce."

Shinji shifted his position on the bed, turning to face her. "A little, I suppose."

They were both silent for a moment.

"You can't sleep." It wasn't a question.

He didn't say anything. His blue eyes, deep, troubled, pleading, simply searched for guidance. Her red eyes, piercing as ever, with their strange way of shining through any dark, offered salvation. She rested a hand on his shoulder. He smiled—no matter the circumstances, her calm face, her soothing touch, her gentle caress, never failed to assuage his doubts and fears. She smiled back. They gazed at each other—no words were necessary.

Slowly, carefully, he adjusted his position, resting his face against the top of her chest. She moved a hand to his cheek. The sudden tickle of her slender fingers sliding across his skin prompted a pleasured moan. Her fingers trailed upwards—he shivered—eventually settling themselves in his hair. Shinji breathed deeply, wrapping an arm around her.

Rei's breath was faint but perceptible, its warm currents softly swaying strands of brown hair to and fro. Her heartbeat, its rhythm steady and comforting, lulled Shinji not quite to sleep, but to a lazy sort of contentment, not unlike the state one finds oneself in during a childhood summer's late afternoon—that quiet, peaceful reminiscence, that total sense of satisfaction, after a day full of excitement and adventure.

It was moments like this that reminded Rei just how much Shinji had grown over the years. When they had first met, they stood at almost equal height—now, Rei barely came up to his chin.

Even so, he never made her feel small or weak. She had always been strong—if not physically, then mentally and spiritually. As much as she had endured, as little as she had had in the past, she never broke down. It wasn't so much that Shinji made her strong, but that in his own little way, he made her stronger.

And in her own little way, too, Rei made him stronger.

Despite how it may have seemed, this wasn't all give on Rei's part. She not only enjoyed comforting Shinji, she found there was something so indescribably wonderful about being held by him. Even when unsure of himself, even when desperately confused and frightened, he always had a way of making her feel so safe, so loved. The least she could do was return the favor.

Tenderly, she stroked his hair as she hummed a nameless tune.

"I love you—you know that?" Shinji said, then sighed softly.

"Yes." Rei brushed away some hair covering his forehead, then gently pressed her lips against it, rewarding him with a chaste kiss. "And I love you, too."


End file.
